


High Concept

by arianakristine



Series: High Concept [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arianakristine/pseuds/arianakristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Killian bump into the Huntsman while in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Concept

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted from Tumblr, and an older work that I am just getting around to posting here. Some mild spoilers for 3x21-22, but not quite canon compliant.

                “You’ll have to be careful, Love.”

                Emma grimaces, half-turning to Killian. He is lingering just beside her, alternating between staring at the clearing before the castle entrance and her. She swallows. This is something she has to do. She’s already made a mess of things, and she needs to fix it.

                It would be easier without Killian’s eyes glued to her at every moment.

                Really, it shouldn’t bother her. His gaze doesn’t stray beyond her face, doesn’t seek to undress her or dissect her. Rather, it’s the hurt puppy look that he tries to hide behind a mask of concern that truly irks her. He has not brought up his feelings for a week or so, but they still hang heavy between them.

                She doesn’t want to admit the reason she holds back from feeling anything for him.

                Honestly, she’s not entirely sure _what_ she would feel for him, if she let herself. There are so many conflicting things about him, so many experiences threaded together, that she just doesn’t know how to work through it. Clearly, they are similar in some ways, and have experiences dealt to them that she can empathize with. That doesn’t make affection, though. That doesn’t create love.

                Her wrist burns as she considers it, a searing boil of awareness that begins at her pulse and then circumvents along the leather tied there. She blinks. Now’s not the time. Not even with the fact that he’s alive in this world. She couldn’t change it, so it’s irrelevant.

                Finally, she gathers her skirts in her fists, the weight of the simple gown heavy and rough under her fingertips. She springs to her feet, eyes finding the best path to the foreboding entrance and the quickest exit. He turns toward the other direction, looking for the second entrance.

                She nods, sharply. “Don’t wait up,” she murmurs, stepping cautiously out from the bushes as he turns down the opposite way.

                She lingers around the first couple steps, carefully finding footing in the dark. The air is still, but that in itself was ominous to the lively forest. She felt hyper-aware, her skin tingling maddeningly.

                She darts forward, making her way closer, when a guard steps in front of her.

                Her heart immediately drops as another flanks him.

                “The Queen doesn’t take kindly to trespassers,” the right one bites out, unsheathing his blade with a sharp hiss.

                _Dammit, Killian, where’s my backup_? She backs up a step, only to find herself pressed up against another leather-clad guard. She backs off quickly, ignoring the tremor that had made its way through her. He lifts a bow, aiming right for her head and she readies herself to leap out of the way, inventorying her surroundings for possible weapons.

                It soars a mere inch from her face, past her, and lands in the guard behind her. Her mouth falls open, watching as the man hitches another bow and takes out the second before she can even take another breath.

                “Why …?” she asks, studying his countenance. Hook flings himself from the branches beyond them, staring at her, mouth agape.

                The hooded figure lowers his bow slowly, his face downturned. He points in the direction of the entrance, but doesn’t say a word.

                “Let’s go, Swan,” Killian voices, stepping forward to grab her arm and lead her away.

                She shrugs him off, stepping forward. The tremor is back, harder this time. She forces herself not to visibly shake. “Please … why?” she asks, but she feels like she already knows.

                He is silent a long moment, and she can practically feel Killian’s impatience behind her. Finally, he reaches out a gloved hand and places it over the left side of his chest. He shakes his head.

                She takes another step closer, feeling the heat resonate off his body. The tremor is now a hum, buzzing with delight. Carefully, she reaches up to cover his hand, feeling her eyes fill with tears that she blinks away hastily. “No,” she whispers, feeling nothing beneath her palm but the warmth of his skin. No beat, no thud, no presence of life.

                “I’m sorry,” he whispers from behind his mask.

                He’s hiding his voice with the low tone, but it doesn’t work. The accent is too clear, too familiar, calling something inside her she tried to forget. She leans back, reaching for his helmet. She hesitates, looking up as if asking permission. He nods slowly, and she carefully tugs it off.

                He is just the same. Same curly hair, same cobalt eyes, same lips that could easily quirk into a broad smile or press into a tight line. Her eyes shut painfully hard. Another person so significant to her past, that doesn’t know her.

                “Emma, you have to hurry,” he murmurs.

                She looks up sharply. Unlike the others, this man’s eyes are clear and focused, with an infinite amount of understand. “But—“

                “It’s okay. I woke up here, like a loop,” he explains gently. Something catches behind his features, a wince of pain and horror that he quickly tempers. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, apologetically reverent. “I at least know how it will end.”

                She doesn’t know how to react. He knows her. He _knows_ her. The only one that she knows she will never see again in her timeline. A sob builds in her throat, one she doesn’t let release even as it stings down her spine. “You deserve better,” she finally makes out bitterly.

                He shakes his head, his fingers lightly trailing against her jaw. “You deserve to go back to your family, Emma. That’s my reward.”

                Her mind racks through ways to save him, to help him now and forever so he can be _safe_. “We can take you with us,” she blurts out.

                He shakes his head solemnly. “I still have to free David, when it’s time. I still need to meet Henry, and you, and help you settle in Storybrooke,” he reminds. He offers a small smile. “It’s okay. Those are good memories.”

                She presses a hand over her heart, remembering the way her mother had been able to split hers to save David.

                “Emma, you have to be quick. They’ll notice they’re gone, soon,” he says.

                She shakes her head and finally releases the sob. “No, dammit! It’s not fair! It’s not _fair_!” she cries, the words ripped from her throat. She sounds like an impudent child, but it’s _true_. Graham suffered just as much as any of them did, if not more so. Why was his happy ending denied?

                “Love, you should listen to him. We need to be on our way,” Killian murmurs. His tone plays on his confusion, at his incredulity over her outburst and reaction to the man in front of her. She can’t be bothered by it.

                “No. No, there’s gotta be a way,” she huffs.

                Graham’s shaking his head so sadly, and it’s _just_ like that day, and she can’t. She just can’t deal with it. So, she grabs the back of his neck and stands on tip toes to smash their lips together.

                He’s static only a moment before he returns the kiss, softening it into something less desperate. Something whispers through them, delicate but powerful. He pulls back, pressing his forehead to hers lovingly. “I’m in love with you, Emma Swan,” he whispers hoarsely. “And your safety makes everything else okay.”

                She presses her face into his neck, inhaling deeply. Flashes of memories play behind her eyes, of every moment they ever had together, tied to the familiarity of his scent. She places another kiss there before pulling back with bright eyes. “I won’t give up. I’ll find something,” she says stubbornly.

                He smiles at her sadly, rolling a thumb over the pulse on her wrist. “Don’t waste the time on me.”

                She wrenches back. “Stop that. You are worth it, Graham.”

                His face flashes over with a wash of elation at the sound of his Storybrooke name. He pulls her close. “Don’t judge me for valuing your safety more than mine,” he says in a soft chuckle, his warm breath tickling her ear.

                She swallows. “Share my heart. It’s something that can be done,” she pleads.

                “Your heart belongs in your chest, Emma. It won’t be removed,” he notes. “Besides, that would be changing something major in the timeline. Butterfly Effect, right?”

                She sniffs, pulling back. “Of _course_ , you’d have watched that damn movie.”

                He smirks. “ _CSI_ fan, actually,” he insists, his eyes twinkling.

                She shakes her head. “No, it can’t be that complicated.”

                “Problems, dearie?”

                “ _Deux ex machina_ to the rescue,” Killian mumbles, peeking around the corners of the castle to watch cautiously for guards.

                She turns to Rumplestiltskin. “Take my heart. Split it, so he can share it.”

                “I’m afraid your dear Huntsman is right. If he was meant to die, he was meant to die,” the imp says, his mad eyes glittering almost as much as his skin.

                She shakes her head, refusing to believe it. “No. I refuse to believe that. I’m supposed to bring back the happy endings,” she said, feeling frustrated tears form behind her eyes again.

                Graham’s hands are on her shoulders, a comforting weight.

                “Too bad: a savior that can’t save,” the future Gold lashes out, his voice sing-songy.

                She wants to scream. Why was he even there, then? What purpose did it serve to witness her misery?

                “Go,” Graham urges once more.

                Emma’s knees weaken, feeling her panic rise. She can’t leave him like this. She kisses him again, letting the desperation back in and this time he allows it, matching her. She’s never going to be able to say it again, so she lets the words bubble over her lips as they part. “I love you.”

                He sighs and pulls her close. “Be safe.”

**

*

                It is only later, when she is back home and tucked into the corner of Granny’s diner that she finally lets the weight of what happened in the other world settle. Her fingers tangle in her bracelet, and she ducks her head, letting her hair curtain her face. She’s happy. She really is. But ….

                “Miss Swan.”

                She looks up, finding Gold in front of her. She stares at him blankly. “What do you want?”

                He smiles. “You were looking for a happy ending. I thought I hid it in plain sight, but it seems I was mistaken.”

                Emma’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

                He holds his arm, leather coat draped over it. She sucks in a breath of understanding. His jacket. “You may have heard that I’m a fan of true love. I may have taken some measures once I knew what you had with your Huntsman. It had to wait, though.”

                She stares at the familiar leather, the whorls and loops she so intimately remembers from long nights at the station, the red band at its collar. She still recalls its smell, even if it is too far away at the moment. “Wait?” she murmurs.

                “For you to make a time traveling trip, of course. You recall a closed coffin, don’t you? There was a reason for that.”

                She looks up. “What’s that?”

                He smiles. “Look.”

                She takes the offering with shaking hands, rummaging through the pockets. Finally, she finds a small vial, no bigger than the tip of her index finger. She raised it in front of her, catching sight of the swirl of whites and purples.

                “Easy enough finding a strand of your hair with you _traipsing_ around the forest and my castle. Your Huntsman was easy enough to convince to give one up. This is the result,” he explains.

                She releases a low breath. “And?”

                “He’s somewhere safe. In stasis. The curse should have changed nothing until it broke. He wasn’t supposed to die, and thus … well, loopholes can be found.”

                “But you said—“

                “I said if he was meant to die, he’d die. He was not meant to die,” he clarifies. “You just need the vial and a True Love’s Kiss, dearie.”

                She shakes her head. “But we weren’t—“

                “You were,” he cuts sharply. “Don’t try to deny it, now. Part of his curse was shattered with that kiss yesterday or thirty years ago, depending on your concept of time. _This_ will fully heal it.”

                She stares at it a long moment. “There’s hope?” she finally voices cautiously.

                He smiles. “Always, dearie.”

                Emma looks around, across happy faces and restored lives, David and Mary Margaret cuddling their little prince, Henry smiling at his uncle, Marian hugging Roland to her chest.

                Emma knows. Hers is coming.

                She nods at Gold. “Let’s go.”

                He had waited this long. She isn’t going to make him wait a moment longer for their happy ending.


End file.
